


In Other Words

by Deviation, TheBuggu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Fluff, Hanzo has Anxiety, M/M, if you disagree then fight us on me on this, mentions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviation/pseuds/Deviation, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBuggu/pseuds/TheBuggu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with a karaoke party. It's innocent enough, but the instant McCree takes his turn and stares Hanzo dead-eyed, all of Hanzo's internalized problems rear their ugly heads. A.K.A. Hanzo has Anxiety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hold My Hand

The first time Hanzo kisses Jesse in public he nearly throws up.

 

He doesn’t, of course, Hanzo has more strength of will than that, but his hands are clammy and shaking slightly and he feels cold all over. To the outside world, he is calm, cool, and collected- the kiss is almost stoic in a way with how stiffly Hanzo delivers it. The rush in his ears prevents him from hearing the shocked murmurs and loud whoops of excitement from those bearing witness to what is secretly a momentous event.

 

Then Jesse smiles, the most foolish look of happiness and pure love on his face. He takes Hanzo’s hand, entwining their fingers together before raising them and kissing the back of Hanzo’s hand. The familiarity of the action, the quiet warmth of Jessestanding so close by, it brings Hanzo back down, slows his racing thoughts and, with a shaky exhale, Hanzo smiles up at Jesse; thoughts meandering back to a similar time, what feels like an eternity ago, when Jesse had first kissed Hanzo’s hand like this.

 

\---

 

McCree has been teasing Hanzo for weeks now and it’s starting to drive him to distraction. He calls Hanzo “Darling” and “Sweet Pea,” he holds out chairs and doors for Hanzo, he uses awful, _awful_ pickup lines all the time followed by raucous winks and cheeky smiles. He crowds Hanzo’s space, touching his shoulders and crowding close so that Hanzo can smell the too-much cologne McCree wears followed by sauntering his way away when he’s done, swinging his hips _just so_ and wearing pants that are, frankly, too small for the man

 

It is maddening and Hanzo’s stomach has been twisted into knots for _weeks_ over this foolish teasing- great pangs of pain that leave him nearly doubled over or awake in his cot, hand over his stomach, trying to soothe the pain away. The cowboy is _awful_ for his health. The worst of it is that Hanzo had believed them to be friends of sorts, drinking together late at night discussing similar pasts and quiet hopes for the future. McCree had never struck him as a cruel man before. Now, Hanzo is disillusioned: of course he deserves such treatment but to offer him kindness and false understanding under the guise of friendship…

 

McCree must surely think him a monster, to deserve such treatment.

 

The thought, of course, sends another pang of pain through Hanzo’s stomach and he hunches over slightly, grimacing, before straightening his back and walking on like nothing had happened. He is heading towards the training grounds, to take his frustration out on something. The training grounds are, thankfully, empty. Most the of the others are surely at lunch at this hour and, in the back of his mind, Hanzo knows he should be too having had little else but water and smoothies the past few days but the thought of adding food to the situation when his stomach was in such a state makes Hanzo grimace. When McCree tires of his teasing and his stomach has recovered some he will make up for lost food then.  

 

He draws Stormbow, taking comfort in the familiar stretch of sinew and muscle. His heart calms to a steady beat as Hanzo lines up the shot and releases the arrow into the floating target. Bullseye, of course. Hanzo allows a smirk to grace his features and then he lines up another shot, and another, and another, smoothly falling into the rhythm. Obtain the arrow, knock it, draw back, aim, release. Over and over. His stomach’s pains quell, his heart eases and he falls into a meditative trance. Bullseye after bullseye. He goes to retrieve another arrow but his hand touches nothing and he scowls at himself. An archer should always know how many arrows they have left. Foolishness. Distraction. He’s going to get someone on his team killed if he falls into such a trance on the battlefield. He berates himself the same way he shoots the bow: with practiced ease.

 

Just as he’s about to hop over the barrier and retrieve his arrows from the targets, there is movement from the corner of his eye. He spins, hand on the dagger he keeps hidden on his person at all times, furious snarl already on his face as he confronts the person that so easily slid past his defenses and has been watching him for an unknown amount of time, ready to strike. A furious dragon about to kill its prey. Then, catching full sight of his visitor, he relaxes outwardly, face going oddly neutral, hand dropping from his dagger’s hilt and taking an oddly relaxed stance.

 

Genji. Of course it is.

 

Genji doesn’t seem alarmed by the fact that Hanzo nearly attacked him on sight, he simply leans against the wall, visor trained on Hanzo. A few months ago, Hanzo would have understood nothing of his brother’s body language. But time and effort has paid off in some extents and Hanzo knows now that the tilt of Genji’s head and the crossing of his arms means that Genji is likely amused by Hanzo’s reaction. The little shit always did find pleasure in startling Hanzo.

 

“Your shooting is as flawless as ever, brother.”

 

Translation: _“Haha you didn’t sense me here and I could have killed you at any time neener neener.”_

 

“Thank you, Genji.”

 

Translation: _“Fuck you, Genji.”_

 

Genji tosses his head back and lets out a deep laugh and Hanzo can’t help the smile that comes across his face at the sound. It is a different laugh in some way, Genji’s vocal cords had been damaged in their fight, after all, and he is older now, with the voice of a man and not the crackling laughter of a teenager. But it is the same in some respects, still full and boisterous. Hanzo turns his back to Genji, his shoulders and stance relaxed as he hops over the half-wall to retrieve his arrows.

 

“What brings you down here and not with your friends?” Hanzo calls out, pulling an arrow out of a target.

 

“They are your friends as well, brother!” Genji replies. Hanzo snorts. Perhaps, Hanzo may have believed him, had McCree not changed his behavior so suddenly. Now, all others have been thrown into doubt. Genji continues, “You’ve been absent as of late as we are worried. Lucio, Fareeha, and Hana are back from their scouting mission and Lucio wishes to host a karaoke night. You should come.”

 

“Lucio has a karaoke machine?” Another arrow is pulled from another target. He inspects the point--he will need to sharpen them soon.

 

“Lucio collects old technology; especially if it’s to do with music. I believe he bragged about the machine being from 2030.”

 

“Does it even work?”

 

“You know Lucio,” Genji’s voice is amused and lilting.

 

Hanzo does know Lucio, the man will fix any old technology that comes his way and then proclaim it his child. The Karaoke machine likely works better than it did in 2030. The idea of spending a night around so many people, where McCree will likely be, however, is...daunting. That is to say that the calm Hanzo had previously obtained on the practice range is now long gone, replaced by near overwhelming anxiety.

 

“No, I will not attend,” Hanzo firmly replies. His eyes are fixed on the target.

 

“But Hanzooooo,” Genji wheedles.

 

“No,” He roughly pulls out another arrow, the last in the bunch, before turning back to Genji with a scowl on his face.

 

Genji stares at him. Hanzo stares back. For a long moment they stare at one another, each trying to will the other into submission. Perhaps they would have been stuck in a stalemate for eternity, if Genji did not release a staticy sigh and look to the side, shoulders slumped and head tilted downward.

 

“Ok. You do not need to attend.”

 

Hanzo hesitates, taking in his brother’s obviously downtrodden expression, guilt curling in his stomach with great familiarity.

 

“...Fine, I will come,” Hanzo gruffs out.

 

Immediately, Genji’s body language change back to ‘happy, content Genji’ and Hanzo is satisfied, “Thank you, brother, you will not regret this,” and then bounding off with a slight skip in his step and...whistling.

 

Immediately, Hanzo scowls at his brother’s retreating back. He’s been played. By Genji. Again. Like the time with coins in the arcade where Genji convinced Hanzo to give him his share.

 

The little shit.

 

\---

 

That night, Hanzo Shimada sat in a lonely corner of Overwatch's mess hall, eyeing the others as they group around the large, bulky machine Lucio had brought to the base. Lena and Hana are hovering around the audio medic as he gets the equipment wired up, chattering in excitement. Lucio informs the gathering group--growing in numbers by the minute--that the machine is a  karaoke machine, “Straight from the ‘30s!”

 

Reinhardt guffaws and cries out how such machines were the 'staple of his youth' in a boisterous and happy tone. Even Genji makes a few comments about having drunken karaoke sessions in his younger years and reminisces upon them with an affectionate sigh. The elder Shimada frowns and eyes his gourd of sake before he takes a short, but guilty, sip. He eventually dares to look back up when Lucio flips its 'on' switch--it doesn’t even have a holographic screen the way most technology does these days--and watches as the others cheer with excitement.

 

Hanzo can feel McCree’s gaze on him and he ignores it, just as he’s been doing his best to ignore the cowboy’s other teasing these past weeks. Instead, he turns to Genji, who joins him at his table, Zenyatta floating comfortably beside him.The two are quietly conversing, Genji still reminiscing on his youth with fond exasperation in his tone. He wonders how much of that is due to age and how much is because of Hanzo himself. That just causes him to scowl and turn his gaze back to his sake gourd, trying his best to ignore the way his stomach knots.

 

The night goes on, Hanzo, Genji, and Zenyatta all watching as the others get up and perform. Reinhardt goes up first, of course, not needing the liquid courage most others are imbibing in to sing his favorite Hasselhoff song, Night Rider. It makes Lucio groan loudly at the choice, yelling out “We need to get you some new tunes, man!” as Reinhardt belts out the song with great enthusiasm but not much talent.

 

After a few more drinks and some wheedling from Angela, Fareeha goes up and sings ‘Angel Eyes’ without ever taking her eyes off of Angela. Angela, is, of course, the most enthusiastic clapper of them all when that display is over and her cheeks are bashfully pink. Fareeha is followed by Bastion, who wants to join in on the fun, and beeps along to ‘The Surfin’ Bird’ which makes everyone laugh and cheer happily. Hanzo is beginning to relax into his seat, laughing along with the others and chatting companionably with those around him. Hana needles Lucio to go up and sing but he laughs and shakes his head no, “I’m a DJ not a singer, you ain't gettin’ me up there.” Hana pouts and takes another big swig of her drink under the watchful eye of a disapproving 76--who can’t do much considering the drinking age in Gibraltar is 18 and Hana is above the legal limit.

 

Hana is, of course, 19 so she’s well versed in sneaking past older adults to get what she wants and continues drinking anyway. Eventually she staggers up, laughing into the mic and picking a modern Korean-Pop song because “I’m not some old lameo who’ll pick something from before 2020!” She bounces around the karaoke machine, enthusiastically singing to everyone and batting her eyes at everyone like the song is just for them, even making Hanzo laugh at her antics.  Her antics do get her cut off from the drinking by a chuckling 76 which, of course, makes Hana pout.

 

Genji is looking longingly to the machine and Zenyatta places a hand on his shoulder, “There is no shame in revisiting your youth, so long as you do not become trapped by it my student.”

 

Genji seems to brighten at the idea and goes up next, fiddling with the machine a bit shyly before singing ‘Tokyo’ by The Wombats. His voice his loud and clear with a feint robotic undertone to it. He is obviously very familiar with the lyrics as he doesn’t stumble or hesitate over them even once. The lyrics make Hanzo scowl and take a big swig from his sake, guilt and anxiety coursing through him as he remembers his brother singing the same song with a different voice and green hair, so long ago. Part of Hanzo knows that Genji isn’t opening old wounds on purpose, but the lyrics and the time frame on top of everything else...it simply adds to the weight already on Hanzo’s shoulder. He slumps over his drink, defensive and upset, determined to leave as soon as possible.

 

Genji comes back to the table after bowing to the applause, chattering happily with his mentor. Hanzo makes moves to leave, planning on slipping away before Genji can notice his state.

 

“Now songs,” McCree slurs into the mic, having taken it from Genji, “Songs, they can be used for all sorts of art forms. Expressin’ happiness or sadness.”

 

Hanzo, weaving his way through tables, looks up and sees McCree staring at him

 

“Even--” a long dramatic pause “--Confessin love,” McCree winks dramatically. Hanzo ducks his head down and hurries, dread filling him as he senses where this is going.

 

He gets to the next table when McCree’s voice rings out, “Now hold on there Hanzo, this next one is just for you.”

 

Immediately all eyes are on Hanzo and he feels the blood drain from his face and his breath hitch and the sudden amount of eyes that are on him. The stomach pains return with vengeance and, on automatic, he seats himself in the nearest seat with Reinhardt across from him, who claps him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh.

 

The music starts up, a simple drum beat and then two high tones on the piano. Then, with the introduction of some sort of wind instrument McCree begins to sing, “Fly me to the moon~ And let me play among the stars~”

 

“What, no country songs Eastwood?” Lucio heckles, causing a bout of laughter to fill the room. Hanzo wants to melt in place and never be seen again.

 

McCree continues singing, interspersing his own comments throughout, “In other words, hold my hand, oh do hold my hand, Hanzo. In other words, baby kiss me,” McCree smacks his lips together loudly in an approximation of a kiss and throws a wink to Hanzo. Not that Hanzo can see it. His eyes are trained solely on the glass of whiskey before him, left behind by the very man making a fool out of Hanzo right this moment.    

 

“You are all I long for, all I worship and adore, boy do I adore you.”

 

Hanzo takes the tall glass of whiskey and downs it in a few gulps. His throat burns and his stomach lurches.

 

“In other words, In other words,” a long pause and then, softly, warmly, with great affection, “I love you~”

 

Everyone is staring at him, Hanzo knows. Everyone here is bearing witness to his shame, this act of, of cruelty being bestowed upon him. His stomach lurches again and  Hanzo claps a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes tight, overwhelmed by the hurricane of emotions running through him. He feels a large hand on his shoulder--Reinhardt he thinks--but he shrugs it off and stands abruptly, making the chair he was in fall over with a clatter. The room is silent as he storms off, hand still clamped over his mouth, shame burning in his eyes. He doesn’t quite see where he’s going, eyes unfocused and stomach causing him distraction. When he feels a sufficient distance away he stops, leans all his weight on one shoulder against the wall and covers his eyes with the hand that was covering his mouth, bending over slightly, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him from all sides.

 

He hears the ringing of spurs, of boots against linoleum and he squeezes his eyes shut fighting back the tears that wish to fall. Not here, not in front of him.

 

“If you don’t return my feelings, well, that’s okay. I just needed you to know,” McCree sounds sheepish; a far cry from his cocky persona from just a few moments before.

 

“Enough,” Hanzo rasps, voice breaking, “Enough with this...this charade. I did not think you to be so cruel.”

 

“Cruel?” McCree sounds baffled.

 

Hanzo whirls around, fury overtaking him. He always was one quick to anger. “Yes, cruel! You reach out to me, call yourself my friend, gain my trust, and then you begin this...this deception!”

 

“I ain’t flirtin with you because I aim to be cruel I’m flirtin with you because I like you,” McCree continues to sound baffles but frustration is creeping it’s way in, “Look if you don’t like me back just say so.”

 

“That is not the point! Why would someone like you ever possibly be interested in someone like me? One who killed his own brother? On the run with nothing to offer and no finer qualities to speak of?” Hanzo raising his voice at this point, not quite shouting, using firm hand gestures to cut through the air. His voice cracks slightly at the end.

 

McCree is staring wide-eyed at this point, something like comprehension dawning on him but Hanzo; his stomach chooses this moment to rebel as it lurches once more. He doesn’t want to be sick in front of McCree so Hanzo spins on his heel and continues on his way, now recognizing that his feet had automatically brought him close to his room. He enters, locking the door behind him before sprinting to the attached bathroom, kneeling and finally allowing his anxiety to overtake him as his stomach empties itself. Blood mixes with bile and alcohol and Hanzo winces, rubbing his lips with the back of his hand--it seems his ulcers have most definitely returned. He flushes the toilet but does not move, simply resting his sweaty forehead against the cool toilet seat, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths and counting to ten over and over until the beating of his heart calmed to something reasonable.

 

\------------------------------------

 

Jesse meanwhile, stands in the hall, staring after Hanzo like a lost pup. He thinks on the past few weeks, of what he knows of Hanzo and his childhood and realizes that Hanzo’s got more issues than previously thought. For a long moment he stands there, before pulling his hat over his eyes and stalking back to his own rooms, thinking all the while. Is it worth even trying for a relationship at this point? With someone so obviously troubled? He knew loving Hanzo wouldn’t be easy from the beginning: he’s moody, grouchy, just as likely to bite your head off as he is to laugh with you. He can be cruel too.

 

But he can also be kind. He remembers Hanzo humming soothing notes to a little boy on a mission, comforting him as naturally as breathing. He seeks redemption like a man on a mission but doesn’t find himself worthy of it at the same time. He watches over all of them on missions, never allowing danger to stray too close to any of them. He has the sweetest smile and the deepest laugh when you can draw them out of him. And he looks at Genji with so much guilt, yes, but so much love too.

 

Jesse thinks of this, of Hanzo’s laugh and care and love and guilt and cruelty and anger and knows that he has just as many flaws and virtues as Hanzo does; knows he’s nowhere near perfect and a list of his sins could go a mile long. He thinks, maybe, together they could go somewhere, be something better than just McCree and Shimada. Maybe they can just be Jesse and Hanzo.

  
Most importantly, Jesse decides that he doesn’t want to regret not trying and that Hanzo? Hanzo  is definitely worth trying for.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucio calling McCree 'Eastwood' is a call out to Hang the Fool because we're literally in love with that fic and couldn't stop ourselves.


	2. Darling, Kiss Me

The morning after everybody acts like nothing happened. No one asks Hanzo about it while passing in the hall, nobody even gives him a worried glance as he determinedly power walks to his cabinet of tea he keeps in the mess hall. His mind races as to why. While he isn't that self obsessed to think everyone would spend their morning worrying about him a display like that is usually a cause of concern. Either his comrades truly don't care or-

 

He opens his cabinet, which he remembers being mostly empty, now filled with his favorite tea.

 

This seems to be Genji’s doing, playing the role of worried brother and making sure Hanzo has enough to keep him calm. Genji is the type to tell everyone not to bother him and go out of his way to restock cabinets. Hanzo smiles a little. Until his eyes fall on a curious CD lying among the boxes of tea, it's label mostly blank with a barely legible cursive that reads the name of Hanzo's favorite telenovela. He knows, no, he's sure that has kept that guilty pleasure a secret from Genji, who knows what the ninja would do with it. In fact he's only told this secret to one person during a drunken talk one night. The terrible writing, the old fashioned recording method, the simple knowledge that the show exists, this wasn’t Genji.

  
Mcree...

 

The shaky calm turns into a mix of anger and confusion. Was he making fun of him? Did that _cowboy_ think some tea and having people sweep the situation under the rug would make up for humiliating him in front of everyone the night before? A poor recording of a secret laid out for anyone to find. The bastard was either cruel or stupid, and Hanzo wanted nothing to do with him whichever the case may be.

 

He grabs the CD the tea under one arm and marches his way over to Reinhardt, dropping it in front of him. 

 

"Hm?" the giant of a man inquiers around a mouthful of sugary cereal, "What's this?" 

 

"I forgot that I restocked on my supply of tea not long ago and I know you enjoy it as well. You may have it."

 

"Oh why thank you Hanzo! Why after everything..."

 

But Hanzo is already making his was to the trashcan, keen on snapping the disk in half and leaving it for trash. He then return to his shelf of tea, bypassing the tea itself entirely, and grabs a bottle of well hidden whiskey. It's one of those days, and tho his stomach immediately protests the idea of alcohol so soon after last night's bout, his heart and mind demand it. He pours a shot and quickly downs it, relishing the burn the way one would an old lover. The second glass he pours he cradles and glares into as tho anger alone could sustain him.

 

He hears the gentle whirring of Zenyatta before he sees the omnic.  

 

“Won’t you meditate with me, Hanzo?”

 

“No,” Hanzo bites out, curt and short with the omnic.

 

The omnic in question puts up his hands, placating him, “I have seen your struggles these last few days. Perhaps meditation will help you look on previous events with a clear heart and mind.”

 

He’s about to snap again, to say he doesn’t need help regaining clarity of thought when he catches himself and sighs. Snapping at Zenyatta will no doubt put more strain on his relationship with Genji and he _is_ trying, dammit. No matter how it may appear to an outsider, he is trying to mend fences and Genji...cares for the monk.

 

“...Fine. But I will choose the location.”

 

The lights on Zenyatta’s forehead brighten, perhaps from contentment or surprise, at Hanzo’s agreement but he nods in a neutral manner. Together, the two head to the roof overlooking the bay, away from prying eyes. Hanzo and Zenyatta sit together on the ground, cross-legged and facing one another. The cool sea breeze soothes Hanzo’s rattled nerves and the calling of the gulls makes for a pleasant distraction. The sun is beginning it’s descent, colors painting themselves across the sky reds, oranges, yellows. It’s a beautiful afternoon.

 

He and McCree used to sit out here, watching the sunset, drinking quietly with one another. The memory of sake on his tongue floods him. Before the strange deception the cowboy fell to, when they were just friends enjoying one another’s company and Hanzo could quietly admire the way the sunlight played along McCree’s face without anxiety welling up in his stomach. A scowl crosses Hanzo’s face without his noticing.

 

“Clear your thoughts,” Zenyatta soothes, voice like a gentle breeze, “Focus only on yourself and your existence. The parts that make you work. Feel the wind traveling across your skin--dwell on those sensations. The Iris embraces you.”

 

Several long moments pass, Hanzo focuses on the way his gi feels on his skin and the warmth of the setting sun, the tickling of the breeze blowing his hair ribbon against his neck.

 

“Now you must relax your muscles. Start from your legs and work your way up. Contract them and then release the tension. Breathe in and then out.”

 

Hanzo tenses his leg muscles then forces them to relax, he clenches his hands and then releases them, hoping the anger and pride clinging to his mind dissipates. It isn’t easy. His body is naturally tense, constantly prepared to run or fight, but he finds it relaxing and relieving as a strange and calm feeling sweeps over him.  
  
Time passes like that, with Zenyatta gently guiding Hanzo through meditation and Hanzo doing his best to follow his words. A sense of calm fills Hanzo. Since McCree had started his flirtations, Hanzo has felt like his insides were constantly vibrating, tense and on the edge of collapse-- like a dam wall seconds away from crumbling or a bowstring pulled too taut. Now, calm prevails once more as he watches his thoughts and memories drifts by in his mind’s eye with a sense of detachment and calm. Like butterflies on a breeze.

 

Feeling...free Hanzo opens his eyes. He can’t tell if the omnic is looking at him but Hanzo realizes the teacher’s head is facing his direction. For a moment, Zenyatta seems to be considering his words before inquiring, “What troubles you, Hanzo?”

 

Hanzo can feel himself tense instinctively, catching himself, he releases the tension on an exhale. He ponders over it a moment; a sense of obligation that he owes Zenyatta an explanation at the very least for assisting him with meditating. Hanzo feels his eyes slipping closed once more more as he takes another inhale.

 

“It is McCree. He has been taunting me with the idea of a...relationship.”

 

“Perhaps he is being sincere?”

 

That gets him a derisive snort but Hanzo doesn’t open his eyes, “His methods have changed, however. Where before he was almost flashy now he’s….quiet? Subdued. I do not understand.”

 

Zenyatta lets out a quiet hum then replies, “Perhaps he is trying to apologize. For causing you distress with his ‘taunting’?”

 

That would make sense, perhaps upon seeing that Hanzo did not appreciate the teasing and realizing he’d taken it too far, McCree would wish to apologize. Hanzo knows McCree isn’t a bad man by any means, no matter what he may say when they’re alone together drinking at night. Then perhaps it has been Hanzo who has been ungrateful, in not allowing McCree to apologize the way he wishes too. Hanzo nods, opening his eyes, only to meet the gaze of Zenyatta before him.

 

He folds over his crossed legs, bowing to Zenyatta, “Thank you for your advice and...thank you for seeing me through meditation.” Gratitude is a hard force to trifle with. Most attempts leave a large lump in Hanzo’s throat. The simple words rarely leave his mouth these days.

 

Zenyatta simply nods, inclining his own head in return, “Thank you, for joining me.”

 

Hanzo unfolds himself and stands, hesitating for a brief moment before offering his hand to Zenyatta. The omnic looks surprised, as much as he can with an immovable faceplate, but he moves to grasp Hanzo’s hand in his own and allowing Hanzo to help pull him to his feet. It’s mostly a useless gesture as Zenyatta immediately crosses his legs once more and begins floating in place but perhaps it is a gesture that means something all the same.

 

So Hanzo slows down. Backs up. Allows himself to look McCree in the eye once more, for them to be in the same room as one another and not leave immediately. His stomach is still in constant knots but McCree, at least, seems elated that Hanzo is allowing for him to apologize. The small gestures of kindness, though well-meaning, wreck havoc on Hanzo. Each friendly gesture McCree extends makes Hanzo’s chest tight and his stomach simultaneously clench and flutter. He’s always known how he feels for the cowboy, but these...kindnesses, especially after he’d been acting so flirtatiously before, bring chaos to Hanzo’s state of mind. He finds himself meditating more often, sometimes going to Zenyatta for help, but most often retreating to his room to attempt to calm himself, to will his emotions away. It helps, for a time, the meditation that is. But always when confronted with that smile, those eyes, the damned telenovela being recorded for him once more, his favorite tea kept in high supply...well.

 

He allows McCree his apology but he pulls away at the same time. He limits their interactions--does his best to avoid being left alone with him. He keeps McCree at a sword’s distance as he draws closer to him. At first, McCree seems happy at the returned closeness, then confused by the more distance Hanzo is keeping between them. It isn’t long before he goes back to casting confused and almost hurt glances to Hanzo. _It's for the best,_ Hanzo scolds himself. _You've already become too attached and when he leaves--then what?_

 

It's during one such moment of retreat that Genji finally confronts him.

 

“Hello, brother,” Genji greets him a few days later. “It is nice to see you out in the open,” he jokes, nodding to table Hanzo is sitting at.

It’s true that Hanzo is in the mess hall, with the others; this time, he isn’t wedged in one of the chairs in the very back, in a far corner. Genji had spotted Hanzo watching McCree from the corner of his eye while quietly drinking his tea--jasmine tea, as usual. He jumps in his seat, albeit subtle, when Genji startles him.

 

The archer makes a soft sigh and shifts his amber eyes up to Genji. “Hm. Genji,” he replies and nods in return. “Greetings, brother.”

 

“Have your sessions with Zenyatta been fruitful?” Suddenly Genji is sitting down beside him, leaning against the tabletop as he stares at Hanzo.

 

Hanzo hides a flinch behind another sip of tea and he quickly closes his eyes. “It is going well. I can see why you are so taken with him.” He instantly regrets his words when Genji cackles mischievously and rests his chin on his hands. “I meant as a teacher.”

 

“He’s a very good teacher,” Genji replies with an lecherous chuckle, laughing on as Hanzo swats at his shoulder. “Anyway, heh heh. Have you...spoken to Jesse lately?” he asks with an overly curious tone and shifts on his seat attentively. “From what he’s told me, it sounds like you were finally opening up to him, but he thinks you’re avoiding him again?” They both glance over to the said man’s direction. Jesse McCree is hunched over one of the other tables, cigarillo in his prosthetic hand and a old book in the other.

 

There it is. Hanzo snorts immediately. “I suppose so. He is a skilled man,” Hanzo admitted with a soft shrug. “He is very valuable to the team. I don’t...dislike his presence if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

He watches as Genji removes his visor; a part of him feels conflicted at seeing his brother’s scarred and aged face. The younger Shimada’s cracked lips pull into a lopsided grin. “I mean, besides as a teammate. You should watch some movies together or hang out. Just even having a pleasant conversation!”

 

Hanzo doesn’t reply and instead favors taking another sip. He didn’t miss the way Genji’s shoulders slumped in disappointment after a few moments of silence passed.

 

“I would hope that this ends differently…” Genji frowns and reaches for Hanzo’s cup. He takes a sip of his brother’s tea and shudders. “Blech! You always loved jasmine. Why not green tea?”

 

Hanzo’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?” he asks, ignoring Genji’s comment about his tea. The strange, sympathetic expression in his eyes or the saddened purse of his lips.

 

Genji slips his facial mask back on and gracefully stands on his feet. “Hyacinth.”

 

His brother’s response makes Hanzo freeze. He snaps his stare on Genji and an anxious gust of breathing overtakes him. He drags his yugake-covered hand down his face and rubs his eyes. “You know nothing, Genji.” he hisses softly, but he can’t bear to look his brother in the eyes.

 

Genji tuts in return. “I know more than you think. Reflect on that, brother,” he urges and gently squeezes Hanzo’s shoulder. “I’m only asking you to give him a chance.” And just like the sparrow of Genji’s nickname, he’s gone in a flash.

 

Hanzo stares at his cup of tea with far-away eyes. His heart is in his throat as he tries to swallow around it. The mere mention of Hyacinth, after so many years without hearing or speaking--or even thinking of--that name...perhaps Genji thought to convince his brother to believe in McCree’s advances. Perhaps he thought to push Hanzo forward by showing him his past mistakes. But Hanzo has always been the more stubborn one of the two and, when confronted by his greatest loss all Hanzo can think to do is dig his heals in and refuse to move, like a wild bronco. At least, that’s what the Hanzo of old would have done. A younger Hanzo with his flesh and blood brother and expectations taller than a mountain to try and meet. But Hanzo is older now. Tired. He likes to think he’s not the man he was in his youth: bull-headed and sure of his righteousness at all times.

 

Unconsciously, his fingers move to play with the yellow hair ribbon feeling the soft worn fabric. The vibrant color of it’s youth has faded to muted tones and the geometric pattern is nigh invisible now but he thinks on the gentle hands that gave it to him so long ago and remembers. He wonders what Hyacinth would think of the man he’s becomes; wonders at the person he would have become if Hyacinth had been given the chance.

 

Slowly, as if in a dream, Hanzo rises, taking his cup of jasmine tea with him as he moves and clutching it tightly. As though he were a beacon, Hanzo’s eyes find McCree and meets his gaze. For a long moment he stands there, at the edge of the world before he takes one more step forward over the edge and then another. His stomach is knotted and he feels light headed with how little air he’s getting right now. But he takes that next step forward. He remembers Zenyatta’s teachings and breathes, letting his thoughts flow over him like water and letting them go.

 

McCree--no--Jesse perks up at Hanzo’s approach, a shy smile spreading across his face. It is both an eternity and no time at all before Hanzo is standing before him. He doesn’t know what to do here, frozen between the past and the future so thoroughly that he can’t move. He feels like a statue: his body unresponsive to his wishes.

  
Then, the present tips his hat at him and grins, “Would you like to take a seat, Hanzo?”

 

Cool airs fills his lungs as Hanzo inhales deeply. He’s quiet for a moment and then he whispers a gentle, “Yes.”

 

Hanzo sits a chair away from Jesse. Not so close that they’re touching but close enough that he could reach out and try, if he wanted. Closer than they’ve been in weeks. And maybe, someday, that gap will be even smaller still. That thought nearly causes Hanzo to short-circuit so he moves away from it, ignoring it for now, pushing it to the back of his mind. Instead, Hanzo looks up, stares the present in the eyes and opens his mouth to speak.


	3. Please Be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is knowing that even in the dead of winter, where the cold bites your bones and the air steals your breath, that. even now, somewhere, there are flowers blooming.

The day he met Hyacinth the sky was painted red like apples. From his science classes he knows that the sky isn’t naturally red at sunset; it’s a combination of noxious gases in the atmosphere causing the sunlight to appear red to the human eye. Supposedly, the sky should be all yellows and tinted oranges at sunsets with no reds at all. Still, that knowledge doesn’t make the it any less beautiful and Hanzo is young yet, occasionally beset by daydreams and flights of fancy as he walks home from university. So he doesn’t quite notice the omnic until he’s literally crashing into him. 

 

Hanzo lets out an “ooph” out of surprise but otherwise makes no sound as he blinks owlishly at the omnic  from his place on the ground . The omnic is of sleek grey coloring with darker grey highlights along the sides of his cheeks and down his arms. The omnic is wearing a collared shirt and trousers with a black blazer, not confined by the heat the same way humans are and so free to wear what they wish. Their “eyes” are deep blue lights. In a similar fashion to Hanzo, they turn on and off, as tho the omnic were resetting them in a similar manner to Hanzo’s curious blinking. After a moment the omnic seems to snap out of it. 

 

“Ooooh I’m so sorry!” they begin, a smooth masculine voice enunciating perfect Japanese, “I was watching the sunset instead of where I was going--I didn’t mean to run into you!” The omnic moves from his sitting position to his knees and bows over them slightly, “Please accept my apology.” 

 

Hanzo stares for a moment and then catches himself staring and is embarrassed by it, “Ahh, it’s no issue. I, too, was watching the sunset instead of where I was going, so we are both at fault.”

 

The omnic’s eyelights seem to glow brighter for a moment in amusement before a slight chuckle escapes them, “I see, it really is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” 

 

Hanzo nods shortly, “Yes it is.” 

 

“But let’s get off the floor shall we?”    
  
Embarrassed, Hanzo moves to gather his fallen bag and get back to his feet but before he can fully do so the omnic has their hand out and is offering to help Hanzo up. He hesitates for a long moment, looking up at the strange omnic, before grasping the cloth covered metal and allowing himself to be hoisted up by the omnic’s considerable strength.

 

For a moment they linger as Hanzo steadies himself but then they’re gone again. 

 

“I am Hyacinth,” says the omnic, voice smooth as silk, “Please, let me take you to coffee some time to make up for this blunder?” 

 

Hanzo looks up at the omnic, who--when standing--is taller by a considerable amount, and raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t think omnics needed to eat?”

 

Again, Hyacinth’s eyelights brighten as they chuckle, “Ah no we don’t, but handsome humans do.” 

 

Hanzo resists the urge to flush. Or tries to, “You don’t even know my name,” he says, exasperated. 

 

“Would you grace me with your name then?” 

 

Hanzo raises his nose, haughty, with a slight flush to his cheeks, “Buy me coffee first,” 

 

A third laugh from Hyacinth and Hanzo is finding he could get used to the sound. His heart is racing and his palms are sweaty. He’s not sure of the words coming out of his mouth right now- they seem to be coming from another person entirely. He watches himself make set the date and time, 5:30, tomorrow at a small hole in the wall cafe and wants to pulls his hair out in frustration. Why would he do this? Why would he set up this...this possible date with this omnic? What is he thinking? What will his father think?

 

He leans against a telephone pole and puts a hand to his chest, clenching the fabric tightly, his mind racing almost as fast as his heart. He was caught off guard, that’s all. Raising to the bait of that omnic, not wanting to back down. That’s all. That’s all it is. Calm down and breathe.

 

He takes the long way home, to ensure that his face is cool and collected by the time he returns to his father’s estate and tries not to think of what tomorrow will bring.

 

\--

 

And Hanzo opens his eyes.

 

He throws one arm over his face and the other clenches the blanket over his stomach hard. He’d been tossing and turning in his sleep, obviously, as one leg is entirely out of the cover and his entire chest is exposed to the chilled air. For several moments he lays like that, breathing in slow and deep trying to quell the shaking in his breaths and limbs. He wipes the wetness from his cheeks with the hand not clenching the blanket tight and rests his hand there for a moment, pressing into his eyelids until he sees spots of light.

 

Hyacinth...how many years since that name was spoken aloud? And by his brother of all people... 

 

Hanzo understands why he’s dreaming of Hyacinth now, with all the stress that the situation with Jesse is putting him under, combined with his brother’s words, old memories are bubbling closer to the surface than normal. And with those old memories, old feelings come closer as well. 

 

Part of him wanted to forget; it would ease the burden of guilt and sorrow. All the warmth and innocence of loving someone previously had rekindled, the instant Jesse McCree dared to reach out to him. Hanzo was certain for years, he’d never love again; he wanted to forget what it felt like. But now, everything has turned upside down. 

 

Wordlessly, Hanzo pushes himself up from his bed and fumbles around on his wall; patting for his light switch.

 

Eventually he finds it and flicks the lights on, blinking rapidly to force his eyes to adjust. His room is mostly bare, having neither the time nor inclination to fill it with useless trifles. But there is an incense holder in the shape of a dragon Genji had given him as gift when he first arrived. Hanzo sits up and pads softly over to the dragon, rifling through his drawers for the incense he's looking for. He deftly plucks one out and sticks it in the holder before lighting it, inhaling the scent of sandalwood deeply. He steps backward and kneels on the floor, closing his eyes and attempting to clear his mind the way Zenyatta had been teaching him to. 

 

He allows the thoughts and memories to drift over him, gently caressing each one, before letting go.

 

\--

 

The date arrives where Hanzo was set to meet Hyacinth for coffee and Hanzo is not nervous. Not even a little. He changed his shirt three times. His slacks twice and his shoes another three times but. He's not nervous at all. Eventually, Hanzo gruffly ties his hair back, picks out a long sleeved collared shirt to hide his tattoo and a pair of faded blue jeans with brown shoes. As he makes his way to the coffee shop he takes several looping turns and pathways, faking out Tohru and Toya, the two guards assigned to him on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays as well as every other Saturday. At least until his father had the schedule changed around again in order to “prevent” Hanzo from learning their movements. 

 

Luckily, Toya and Tohru are dating under his father's nose and would thus much rather leave the the young heir to himself for the day if it means they too get the day to themselves. A sort of quiet agreement between the three of them after having watched over Hanzo for so long. It'll be a shame when father catches them and has them separated, Hanzo thinks idly. 

 

The coffee shop is bustling this time of day with couples and friends all gossiping with one another. Some are omnics, some are human, but here, it seems, the two groups can intermingle quietly with some semblance of peace. Hanzo, having arrived early, picks a spot with his back to the wall and his eyes facing the door, alternating between scanning the menu and the door. 

 

As such, he spots Hyacinth before they spot him. 

 

They're wearing a dark blue button down and light grey jeans and a pair of worn sneakers. The blue is accentuated by the silver and dark grey of their body. He imagines that it bring out the color of their optics as well. For a few second second Hanzo contemplates sliding into the kitchen and leaving out the back entrance before Hyacinth can spot him. But then, their optics turn toward him and seem to brighten at the sight of him, sitting quietly in the corner. They make their way over, gracefully swerving around servers and customers alike before standing before him. Before Hanzo can stand, Hyacinth gives a short bow and asks, “May I have the honor of sitting with you?” 

 

For a moment, Hanzo hesitated, staring with wide eyed up at Hyacinth before he, almost on autopilot, nods his head silently. Hyacinth pulls out a chair and sits across from him. Hanzo can't meet his optics.

 

For several long moments there is an awkward silence, Hanzo pinching the skin of his thumb tightly and picking it away while looking over Hyacinths shoulder and Hyacinth staring at Hanzo, waiting for him to say something. Then, miracle of miracles, a server comes by, and Hanzo turns to face him, ordering an espresso. 

 

All too soon the server is away helping another table, leaving Hanzo to this awkward mess once more. 

 

“So,” drawls Hyacinth, slowly, as tho approaching a startled animal, “I'm Hyacinth. I prefer to be referred to as male. Now that I've taken you out to coffee, would you grace me with your name?” 

 

Hanzo blinks, heart pounding in his ears. Before, hyacinth was using the neutral  _ ora,  _ but now they...he switched to the less formal but definitely masculine  _ oira, _ when referring to himself. All at once Hanzo felt as though he was waking from a dream. He is here, getting coffee with an omnic. A male omnic. An omnic who is male. 

 

If Hanzo were less collected, he would have immediately left the table and Hyacinth behind. Were he more, he would raise an eyebrow and suavely dodge the subject. As it is, he stares slightly blankly back at Hyacinth, unsure of what to do. The server--bless his ancestors--comes at just that moment with Hanzo’s espresso, which Hanzo busily fiddles with. His fingers danced around the rim of his cup for several seconds as he sat in silence. Sharing names...meant familiarity. And with familiarity, grew closeness.

 

Hanzo is a Shimada-closeness is not an option. This had been a mistake before: now it’s only begging for the omnic before him to be...disappeared. The silence stretches out for a long moment until it becomes awkward. 

 

Hyacinth sighs, a rush of static, a learned habit. Then says, in a soft undertone, “If you’re not comfortable being seen with me…” 

 

Hanzo isn’t and he hates that he isn’t and he even more hates that he hates that he isn’t. His stomach is in knots and his hands would be shaking if they weren’t grasping the espresso cup so firmly. 

 

“...Hanzo,” he gruffs out at last. He clears his throat and takes a sip of the espresso. Caffeine is...probably a bad idea. 

 

“Hanzo…”Hyacinth’s voice sound’s faintly musical over his name-he wonders if Hyacinth was originally programmed as a musician. He wonders if he should ask, “A very traditional name, unusual in this day. Tho I’m not one to speak in such instances.” 

 

Hanzo lifts his gaze from his cup to Hyacinth’s optics, his lips quirking at the corners.

 

“Ahh, there’s a smile, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to look at me,” Hyacinth didn’t sound bitter, more amused than anything. Still, Hanzo flushed lightly with some shame- his manners have failed him. He forces himself not to look away, tho he feels as tho the omnic’s gaze is lingering on his cheeks and ears with no small amount of amusement. 

 

Hanzo is a dragon- Dragons do not look away from attractive omnics just because he says something embarrassing. 

‘

“Where does the name Hyacinth come from?” Hanzo asks, determined to make conversation.

 

“A lover of Apollo, the Greek God- I chose it myself,” Hyacinth says with a small amount of pride coloring his tone, “It’s a bit of a sad story, you see,” Hyacinth begins gesticulating with his hands in a way Hanzo hasn’t seen an Omnic do before- naturally and thoughtlessly, as tho he were organic, “But of course, the greeks don’t do happy endings. The winds grew jealous and lifted a disk that Apollo had thrown causing it to strike Hyacinth in the head, killing him instantly! Apollo, so wrought with grief, turned his body into the Hyacinth flower and so-wait, I apologize, this isn’t very interesting I know,” Hyacinth’s voice turns bashful, his increasingly wide gestures returning to center becoming unnaturally stiff once more. 

 

“No,” Hanzo interrupts, voice just slightly louder than he intended. He clears his throat, “No, not at all, I find you. It. The story, that is, fascinating.” 

 

Stubbornly, Hanzo meets Hyacinth’s gaze. His espresso beginning to form waves, crashing along the sides of the cup as Hanzo’s hands shake. 

 

Hyacinth leans back slightly, his servos spreading out on the table before him. There’s quiet for a moment and Hanzo’s thinks he can almost hear a noise like a cooling fan come on. A rush of static from Hyacinth and then, “You’re certainly an interesting one, Hanzo.”

 

A knock on the door and like a warm breath in the winter air, the memory is gone. 

 

Hanzo gracefully stands, his shoulders barely moving with a heavy sigh. He pads to the door, his fingers brushing over the display next to it, bringing up a small, blue tinted display screen showing who is on the other side. All he sees is one large dark eye taking up the view screen and he huffs a laugh under his breath. Jesse.

 

Feeling playful, Hanzo taps the intercom button on the side of the screen, “Who is it?” Hanzo asks, voice lilting at the end. 

 

“Delivery service, sir,” 

 

“Hmm, I do not recall ordering anything.” 

 

“‘S special,” Jesse drawls, backing away from the viewfinder and smirking into it. Hanzo thinks he may be imagining it, or it may be a trick of the blue tinted light, but Jesse’s cheeks appear a little flushed, “For one Mr. Shimada.” 

 

“Shimada?” Hanzo says slowly, as though deep in thought. His lips twitching upwards as he attempts to sound convincing, “No, I have heard of no such person. Are you certain you have the right address?”

 

“Oh of course,” a soft thump against the door and the movement of Jesse’s face away from the viewfinder indicates the moment Hanzo was waiting for- Jesse has leaned against the door. Hanzo’s lips curl wickedly, “You see I-woah there!”

 

Hanzo opens the door and barks out a loud laugh as Jesse trips over his own feet into his room. He’s wearing a navy blue and white plaid button down and a matching blue “Poncho” (Hanzo is well aware it’s not a Poncho but he enjoys the scrunched up nose Jesse makes when he refers to it as such), and fades jeans that look one fall away from having holes tear through the knees. He is, blessedly, barefoot. Hanzo hates the spurs. 

 

The hat is, of course, still firmly in place and Jesse pulls it down slightly to cover his eyes. He straigtens and brushes imaginary dust off his Serape. Hanzo doesn’t laugh again but his lips are still twitching when they meet eyes. 

 

“So,” Hanzo begins, eyes scrinched at the corners from trying not to laugh, “What is this delivery you have for me, stranger?”

 

Jesse smiles, seemingly having caught his balance once more, and reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt pulling out several small flowers and handing them over. Hanzo stares at the proffered hand with bewilderment before looking back up at Jesse’s face. His cheeks are a little flushed. 

 

“For you,” Jesse says shifting his arm forward lightly. Hanzo reaches up and takes the small flowers bringing them close to his face so he can examine them. They are small with five petals. At first glance the petals are white but a second glance shows that they are actually a very light purple and that the center bulbs are an equally light yellow. There are two small stems of flowers and the flowers are  bunched tightly together, each blossom slightly smaller than his thumb nail. 

 

On instinct he brings the blossoms to his nose and inhales slowly. Light and floral, sweet. 

 

“Saw them and thought of you,” Jesse mumbles sounding only slightly bashful. 

 

They’re both flushing like children and refusing to quite make eye contact, but they’re both smiling. Hanzo steps further into the room and grabs the glass of water on his side table, gently placing the flowers in. 

 

“What are they?”   
  


“Not sure,” Jesse says, shrugging.

 

“And what made you think of me?” Hanzo turns around after placing the flowers in and places his hands on the side table, leaning backwards on it and quirking an eyebrow at Jesse, curious. Not many would think to compare Hanzo to a flower of all things especially one as dainty and floral as the ones in the cup. 

 

Jesse scuffs his foot on the floor and shoves his hands into his jean pockets, shrugging, falsely causal. “Was explorin’ the cliffs some. Climbin’ and foolin’ round. Didn’t think somethin’ could live on the rocks like that but there they were, thrivin’ without so much as a by your leave.” 

 

He doesn't continue from there but even that much has Hanzo’s chest tight and cheeks warm. 

 

For a long moment he stares at Jesse. Hanzo thinks that he is tired of being a coward. He pushed off the side table and straightens slowly, his shoulders back and his head tilted up slightly, catching Jesse’s eyes. 

 

His voice does not waver but the words are slow and soft, falling from his lips like flower petals in the spring- “You should show me, sometime. These cliffs. I am sure they are quite beautiful.” 

 

“I, yeah, sure that’d be great, when-”

 

“Tomorrow, you can-”

 

“Pick you up round 6, for the sunset, and”

 

“Yes, I will bring drinks.”

 

“Great, sounds mighty fine.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Good”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ok.”

 

“Ok.”

 

“Well I’ll just be...headin out then. Got. Stuff to do. Yup” 

 

“Indeed.” 

 

They stand in silence for a moment, each with grins on their faces. Jesse scratches the back of his head and lets out a sort of amused chuckle and Hanzo cracks out a grin before joining him in his amusement. There’s a sort of vibration in the air, a harpstring freshly plucked and echoing between them. It fills Hanzo’s with a sort of giddiness he has not felt in ages. 

 

“Goodnight, Jesse,” Hanzo says, eyes smiling. 

 

“Night, Hanzo,” Jesse replies, walking backwards with both hands behind his head. He turns around and taps the button to open the door, which slides open with a quiet whirr. And exits with a little skip in his step. Hanzo walks him out, meeting his eyes with a small smile as he presses the button to close the door once more. 

 

He leans his back against the door, his gaze catching the flowers now daintily resting in his water glass. In the quiet of the room, and with his back against the door, he is able to both hear the soft thump of Jesse’s own back resiting against the door and feel the vibrations. Both of them, together, leaning against on either side of the door: planning for the future. 

 

The future smells light and floral and thrives in a harsh environment, bringing beauty where it grows.  

 

\--

 

To the outside world nothing very unusual is happening. Nothing amazing or spectacular. Nothing groundbreaking or awe-inspiring. But in a little corner of a cafe two men sit, one human, one omnic. The omnic rests one of his hands on the table, servos slightly curled inward as tho such a position feels more organic to him, a silent invitation. For a long few moments there is no response from the human. The omnic begins to withdraw his servos, sliding them with the grain of the wooden table, when, in a moment of either bravery or foolishness or both, the human reaches out. 

  
They don’t hold hands or twine fingers. It’s merely a touch, a butterfly’s kiss or an eyelash brushing against a partner's face. But it pauses the omnic, who cocks his head back at the human who’s meeting his gaze as tho daring him comment. 

  
They don’t hold hands or twine fingers- they’re not there yet. But they do brush against one another and they remain there, barely touching, for the duration of their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse brought Hanzo Gibraltar Sea Lavender.


End file.
